


Five Tanks

by audreycritter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: All friendship, For a Friend, Gen, SO MUCH FLUFF, chillin', i mix canons just fyi, just drivin', non-costumed adventures, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, and Diana Prince go on a road trip. Where are they going? Doesn't matter. That's not the point.Did I mention this was fluff? Because that's all it straight-up is.





	

 

**_Tank One_ **

 

The engine is already idling when Clark Kent climbs into the back seat of the mid-size SUV.

 

“You're late,” Bruce says. “I said nine.”

 

“It's 9:02!” Clark protests, buckling in out of habit rather than need. “I was helping Lois with something.”

 

Diana Prince sits in the passenger seat and she turns to look at him.

 

“Would you like to invite her to join us in our quest?”

 

“No,” Bruce answers for him. “He won't. And it's not a quest, it's a therapeutic vacation. Like any useful endeavor it has some parameters and now that Clark is _finally-_ ”

 

“Two minutes, Bruce. I was two minutes late.”

 

“- _finally_ here, I can go over them. Once. We've all been on edge recently and I thought it would be useful to decompress. We have a 17 gallon tank in this vehicle and it averages 24 miles to the gallon.”

 

“That seems low,” Clark muses.

 

“It's an older model. The point is to be inconspicuous. Stop interrupting me. Seventeen gallons, 24 miles per. If we refill the tank five times, that’s 2040 miles, approximately. I considered setting the limit at three tanks, but considering the confluence of mileage when we account for traffic and terrain, I think five is a good number.”

 

“You don't have to convince me, Bruce, I'm already here,” Clark says, patting his backpack on the seat next to him. “I brought snacks. I’m ready to go.”

 

“Were we required to bring foodstuffs?” Diana asks, a little worried.

 

“No,” Bruce says. “I know you're here, I'm not an idiot. I just want to be clear that what may seem like aimless wandering is not, in fact, entirely aimless. I thought you might worry otherwise.”

 

“Okay, that's considerate,” Clark concedes. “Where are we off to first?”

 

“I don't know,” Bruce says curtly, unfurling a map across the dash.

 

“That seems unlike you,” Clark says.

 

“And this is why I thought you would worry. Diana, you pick first. We have a split on the I-70 East in twenty miles. Which way are we going?”

 

Diana looks over the map and considers.

 

“I will choose in the moment,” she decides. “That seems suitably adventurous.”

 

Clark thinks Bruce's posture says he doesn't especially appreciate this but he doesn't argue.

 

“Your choice,” he says simply, refolding the map into the exact previous configuration. Clark marvels at this skill; his maps always end up crumpled or folded against themselves.

 

“Who choses next? By coin toss?” Clark asks and suggests, leaning back and stretching his legs. He's glad Bruce picked an SUV and not a sports car.

 

“You,” Bruce answers, adjusting the rearview mirror and sliding sunglasses on. “D-C-B. Reverse alphabetical order. We would have gone alphabetically but I thought it would seem unfair.”

 

“You're just a bundle of consideration and goodwill today,” Clark says cheerfully.

 

“I'm stressed,” Bruce replies tightly. “Thus the road trip.”

 

And they're off.

 

**_Tank Two_ **

 

“This is sort of nice,” Clark says, leaning back on the headrest. It's about midday and it _has_ been nice not be working or rushing or doing anything much at all. He even read a few chapters of a library book without speeding.

 

Bruce has been content to drive and Clark has been content to let him. Diana seems wholly uninterested in driving, but even when they stopped for gas she made no move to give up the passenger seat.

 

“It is. Look at us out on the road,” Diana says. “The Holy Trinity.”

 

“Ugh, don't call us that,” Clark says, sitting up and looking out the window. “I can feel my parents’ parish priest glaring at me.”

 

“What?” Diana turns to look at him. “It is merely a term. It is not blasphemous to recycle terms.”

 

“It does have certain connotations, Diana,” Bruce says. He’s steering with his knees and cleaning his sunglasses. Clark resists the urge to lean forward and hold the steering wheel.

 

“I did not think you were a religious man,” Diana says in surprise, looking at Bruce.

 

“I'm on a road trip with a demigod and an alien. I'm wary but reluctant to rule out the possibility.”

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Clark says, his own feelings on the matter torn.

 

“I prefer the term ‘warrior,’” Diana says crossly. “My father and I are not on good terms at the moment.”

 

“‘Warrior’ as a word doesn't convey the--” Bruce stops abruptly when he glances over and sees Diana’s glare. “Right,” he says instead, letting it drop.

 

“Let’s play some music,” Clark suggests, just to change the subject. “I made some playlists.”

 

“Is it instrumental?” Bruce asks.

 

He does not indicate which answer would satisfy him. Clark frowns at his phone.

 

“Some of it?”

 

“We will play music!” Diana announces, slapping her hand down on the arm rest. “I am eager to hear what Clark considers worthwhile.”

 

“Now I'm reluctant,” Clark says. “One song you don't like and your entire opinion of me goes to heck.”

 

“It's pronounced ‘hell,’ Clark,” Bruce says, changing lines to speed around a semi. He flicks the audio system on at the same time.

 

“I will not judge harshly,” Diana promises. “I cannot promise the same for Bruce, but I understand that men have their...what did you call them?”

 

She's looking at Bruce again.

 

“Guilty pleasures,” he supplies.

 

Clark feels actual pain at the fact that he missed _that_ conversation.

 

“Guilty pleasures!” Diana repeats.

 

Clark sighs and looks at the lists he'd thrown together earlier. They have helpful titles, like ‘playlist 1’ and ‘untitled’ and ‘ALL SONGS CONSIDERED MASTER FILE.’

 

He syncs the Bluetooth and hands the phone to Diana.

 

“You pick,” he says. “I’m gonna regret whatever I choose. I can already feel Bruce rolling his eyes.”

 

Diana peers at the phone and then taps her finger on something.

 

“...and when the fellowship leaves Rivendell, we can see that Tolkien was clearly making allusions to the British diplomacy efforts during…”

 

The nearly monotone voice fills the car.

 

Clark sits forward, leaning between the driver and passenger seats.

 

“Sorry,” he says, “this is just a lecture series, I don't know how it--”

 

“Let it play,” Bruce says. “It's not bad for pop music.”

 

“Is this a historic account?” Diana asks suspiciously after about thirty minutes. Clark has actually been enjoying the lecture, after listening to five minutes a few months ago and then forgetting about it.

 

“Of the First World War?” Bruce asks, glancing at her. “Or the Battle at Helm’s Deep?”

 

“The First World War,” Diana snorts with laughter, question forgotten. “The _first_.”

 

**_Tank Three_ **

 

Clark is distracted from the podcast he was listening to, sprawled out on the backseat in the dark, by a faint noise. It is late at night and the moon hangs low in the sky outside the car window.

 

Slowly, carefully, Clark tugs an earbud out to see if he is hearing correctly (he is). There, it still is there, from the driver’s seat.

 

Music is playing over the speakers, a shuffled playlist started an hour ago and let go without curation.

 

And there is a soft baritone quietly singing along.

 

Diana’s seat is reclined almost onto Clark’s feet and he uses his socked toe to nudge her head on the far side of the car.

 

She opens her eyes immediately, silently, and looks right at him. He widens his eyes to signal and hers widen in surprise. They both hold themselves like statues.

 

“ _But every song's like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin' in the bathroom._ _  
_ _Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room,_ you can close your mouth, Clark.”

 

Clark snaps his mouth shut.

 

“You have a nice voice,” Diana says appreciatively.

 

“I know,” Bruce replies. “And thank you. If I was opposed to you hearing, I wouldn't have been singing in a car with two beings who don't require sleep.”

 

“Speaking of sleep,” Clark says, but Bruce is singing again,

 

“ _You can call me queen Bee_ _  
_ _And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule._   
_Let me live that fantasy._  

You were saying, Clark?”

 

Clark shakes his head. He thinks.

 

“Um...oh, yeah, are we going to stop for the night? Get hotel rooms?”

 

“I like driving at night,” Bruce answers. “Unless you are both opposed.”

 

“I am content,” Diana says, “but only if Bruce agrees to sing again.”

 

“You know Lorde?” Clark exclaims, his thoughts tumbling over one another out of order.

 

“I have teenagers,” Bruce says, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Your excuse?”

 

“I listen to NPR,” Clark says defensively. “I listen to a lot of things.”

 

“I'm not singing again,” Bruce says to Diana. “But I am going to keep driving unless you both explicitly ask me to stop.”

 

Clark thinks back to a conversation he had with Bruce and Tim Drake months ago.

 

“Diana,” he says, settling against the seat again. “I'll get him to sing.”

 

“No,” Bruce says. “You won't.”

 

“Scroll through his music. Find something by Tears for Fears.”

 

Diana is already scrolling with one stiffly outstretched finger.

 

“Clark,” Bruce says sternly. “That was in confidence.”

 

“I haven't said anything,” Clark says with a casual air.

 

“Hn,” Bruce says.

 

“I have found it!” Diana exclaims.

 

“I'm not singing,” Bruce repeats.

 

Clark grins.

 

“Wait for it, Diana. The chorus’ll get him.”

 

**_Tank Four_ **

 

“You've known for thirty miles it would be your turn! Pick, damnit!” Bruce snaps at Diana, less than a quarter mile from the interstate split. The road is nearly empty except for the fact that they are flanked by semis.

 

“Left!” Diana calls.

 

Bruce edges left at the split and just as they're upon the yellow wedge of paint signaling the branches, she shouts,

 

“No, right! I meant right!”

 

Bruce swerves sharply and they come close to the wheels of the turning semi.

 

As soon as they're back on a straight stretch, Diana laughs.

 

“I am having second thoughts about this method of direction,” Bruce says sourly.

 

“A bit of thrill is good for you,” Diana says, clapping him on the shoulder. “And I did not doubt your driving skills.”

 

Clark is looking at Bruce with a slight frown.

 

Other than gas, they've made no stops at all along the road and it's now a little more than twenty-one hours since they set out. It's been a surprisingly relaxing time, but now something is nagging at Clark. They pass an exit sign.

 

“Waffles!” he exclaims. He’s not even sure what part of the country they're in. He's been enjoying not having to pay attention.

 

“Waffles?” Diana asks.

 

“We should stop and get waffles,” Clark says, giving her a look and nodding his head toward Bruce.

 

“Stop conspiring,” Bruce says. “I ate a sandwich at the last gas station.”

 

“ _Waffles_ ,” Clark insists. “I will even use my directional choice for this.”

 

“That doesn't even make sense. But if you both want to stop, we can stop.”

 

“We want to stop!” Diana answers. “I love waffles.”

 

“You say that like there is a universal waffle standard,” Bruce says skeptically.

 

“Not all waffles are like Alfred’s,” Clark says reassuringly. “We're going to Waffle Hut.”

 

Bruce grumbles but takes the next exit.

 

Inside the restaurant, Clark leads them to a small booth in the back and almost as soon as they sit down, Diana springs back to her feet and says,

 

“They have a jukebox!”

 

Clark looks at Bruce expecting to see disdain but the other man is distracted. He already has a cup of coffee and Clark looks around, bewildered. He has no idea where it came from.

 

“Did you have that in your pocket?”

 

“Is this a riddle?” Bruce replies with a faint grin. “No, I poured it for myself on our way back. You took a full minute to pick a booth.”

 

“That's employees only,” Clark says, looking over at the machine behind the counter.

 

“And I'm a stickler for rules,” Bruce says, sipping the steaming liquid. He makes a face. “But I was wrong. This isn't coffee. It's water that wants to be coffee.”

 

He keeps drinking it anyway. Clark watches him as he considers, then adds two packets of sugar, sips again, and sighs in frustration.

 

Clark turns to see what Diana is doing. She’s still leaning over the jukebox.

 

“I helped Selina Kyle place her baby with adoptive parents last week,” Bruce says quietly.

 

Clark whirls back around to look at him. The other man is looking down into the cup of coffee, stirring it even though the sugar must be long since dissolved.

 

“Oh,” Clark says. “Who…”

 

He can't figure out how to ask without being abrupt or rude.

 

“Not me,” Bruce says, sipping the coffee. “And you know I checked.”

 

“But you needed to check,” Clark says to confirm.

 

“Yes,” Bruce says simply. “And I'm not.”

 

“You know she's never been…” Clark starts and stops. “It was always a risk…” he can't make up his mind. “I'm sorry,” he finally settles on. “That must sting.”

 

It's too light a word but Clark senses that he can't push this one any more or dig any deeper. It took almost twenty-two hours just to get this much out of the other man.

 

Bruce just shrugs a little and sips his coffee.

 

The sound of a Beatles’ song fills the restaurant and Diana rejoins them, scowling.

 

“That machine is an insult to jukeboxes,” she announces.

 

“Can I get y’all something?” a waitress asks, coming over now that she sees Diana is sitting with them again.

 

“I just want a plate of waffles,” Clark says without looking at a menu. “And blueberry syrup if you have it.”

 

“I will also have that,” Diana says.

 

They both look at Bruce.

 

“The same,” he says, resigned. “And more coffee.”

 

“Do not sound so disheartened,” Diana scolds him when the waitress walks away. “You are likely faint from hunger and lack of sleep, however.”

 

“And when we get back in the road, I'm driving,” Clark says. “You aren't the only one who likes to drive.”

 

“I'm the only one who _can_ drive,” Bruce answers. “Based on the state of your suspension and brakes.”

 

“When did you look at my suspension and brakes?” Clark exclaims.

 

“When I took your Jeep for an oil change.”

 

“When you-- wait, when did you take my Jeep for an oil change?”

 

“Your mother is right. That car is a death trap. You should stop letting Lois drive it.”

 

Clark glares at him.

 

“You can drive,” Bruce says.

 

**_Tank Five_ **

 

“Why is the road gone.”

 

Bruce’s voice is flat.

 

They are surrounded by pastureland. The SUV is sitting at the end of a dirt road.

 

Clark has a map spread out on the warm hood and is studying it with a skeptical frown.

 

“We left the interstate system while you slept,” Diana informs him.

 

“The point of a road trip,” Clark says, tracing a line with his finger on the map, “is to see America, not billboards _about_ America.”

 

“The point of a road trip is to stay on a road!” Bruce says, waving an arm at the landscape around them. “This is not a road! This is a cow field!”

 

“It's not a cow field,” Clark says without looking up.

 

“Because you are an expert on _all_ farms,” Bruce retorts peevishly.

 

“Because it doesn't have any cows,” Clark answers, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Is that a cow?” Diana asks, leaping onto the hood and standing next to the map. She shields her eyes from the sun with one hand.

 

Clark turns and narrows his vision.

 

“Those are not cows,” he says. “Those are elephants.”

 

“They are indeed,” Diana says, musing.

 

Bruce snatches the map and looks it over.

 

“You drove us into the middle of nature preserve, that's just great, Clark.”

 

“Where?” Clark asks, standing next to Bruce to look at the map. He gestures helplessly. “Where is there even--oh, there. Okay.”

 

“Was there not a fence?” Bruce asks, looking back down the dirt road.

 

“It was open!” Clark says. “Wide open!”

 

“The elephants are approaching,” Diana announces from the hood of the SUV.

 

“Get in the car,” Bruce growls. “This is why I don't sleep. Close my eyes for thirty minutes and the whole system falls apart.”

 

“It _is_ sort of fun,” Clark says, buckling as Bruce whips the SUV around on the grass and tears down the dirt road. The elephants are lumbering toward them in no apparent hurry. “Being chased by elephants in Minnesota.”

 

“This doesn't count as chasing,” Bruce says, gaining speed nonetheless.

 

Within a few minutes they are back on a real road, and then the main road.

 

Clark teaches Diana how to play the alphabet game and then she convinces Bruce to play I Spy with them. It lasts three rounds, until Bruce stumps them both for over fifteen minutes. Diana won't give up and the game fizzles out, but Clark thinks it was still worth it to hear Bruce unironically utter the words, “I spy with my little eye.”

 

They’re swapping JLA stories when the engine makes a choking noise and Bruce edges it into the shoulder of the road.

 

“That's it,” he says. “Out of gas.”

 

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Clark says.

 

“You and Diana can fly,” Bruce says, pulling something out of his pocket and pressing it into his face. It's a fake moustache. He runs a hand through his hair and says, “hand me that bag.”

 

Clark hands him the bag. Inside is a garish plaid sportcoat.

 

“What will you do to return home?” Diana asks, opening her car door.

 

“Matches Malone is going to hitchhike,” Bruce says. “It's good for the reputation.”

 

“Thank you,” Clark says, grabbing his backpack. “I had fun.”

 

“I did as well!” Diana exclaims. “We should repeat this next year!”

 

Clark thinks Bruce will scoff at this but the other man just shrugs and says,

 

“Fine. A year from now. Clark, tell Lois I said hello.”

 

Bruce steps out into the road with a thumb up and there's already a pickup truck slowing, like he'd planned it that way.

 

“Wait,” Clark says, as Diana takes off. He's left alone on the side of the road. “What...what about the car.”

 

A piece of paper flutters under the windshield and it catches his eye. He leans over and picks it up to read it. It's Bruce’s handwriting.

 

_Sell the damn Jeep for scrap. Happy birthday._


End file.
